Unstable Origins: Continued
by Angeladex
Summary: The long-awaited sequel appears? Let's go! Season 1. Let's get some new players in there! Chap 2: Some Kurt anxiety-times, some Toad-man (Because I promised he'd come) and some Jean. What shenanigans can our characters get up to within the confines of season 1 canon? What in-betweeners will I squeeze in there? So far, we are still between episode 1 and 2! Doing pretty good!
1. Chapter 1

It was late September, maybe early October, and the weather in and around upstate New York had been unpredictable. Especially in the little town off Westchester; Bayville. If you wanted to be very specific, it was the "upper-crust" part of town, comprising the likes of Winchester Boulevard and Graymalkin Lane.

The wind that blew eerily westward over the rest of the East Coast didn't touch the large mansion and associated buildings of Graymalkin Lane, in Bayville, New York. It was a strange local phenomenon that wasn't really interesting, except for those superstitiously-inclined; when the East Wind blew, after all, it was a bad omen. What of the houses that didn't feel it blow? Was the bad omen still present? Or put off?

When it comes to a point that superstition can be debunked by not only logic, but irrefutable science as well, it would seem that it would be defeated entirely. If the East Wind can't reach you, the bad omen can't be borne by it.

Or can it?

* * *

At 3:25 on the dot – in the _morning_, mind – Scott Summers awakened from a sleep of four hours and thirty-two minutes. He did so without opening his eyes and also staying completely still, whilst trying to discern what it was, exactly, that had caused his sudden transition from slumber to total alertness. He never slept long. He hadn't been quite able to kick the habits of his childhood, which involved, among other, more sinister things, a certain disregard for how tired he was, paired with an almost palpable ache for sunlight to reappear after its nightly absence.

He was able to pick out the almost inaudible sounds of the opening credits of a movie. The previous summer had lent itself to him, his best mutant friend Jean Gray, and his best human friend Paul Haits engaging in endless marathons of movies and television series that he'd never seen; they would isolate themselves in the rec room in resting bouts, healing from sunburn, attempting to cool themselves by hiding from the sun. Scott therefore knew, if not the movie itself, the familiar sounds of the electronics powering on, and even the hurried way the viewer decreased the volume as the film began, not wanting to disturb any of the mansion's other occupants.

He deduced that it was Kurt. Had to be, as reasoned by simple elimination processes: None of the adults would do it, and Jean was annoyingly persistent about waking him if she were putting a movie on in the early hours of the morning. It was their "thing," from back in the beginning of their time in this mansion, when they'd shared dreams because she didn't have practice reigning her mind in –or projecting, for that matter—and they hadn't really known each other well enough to want to talk about it. Movies were good that way. Nice and familiar. Mind-numbing.

Scott touched his face, making sure the weight on his nose wasn't deceiving him and that his goggles were on straight. They always were. He always checked anyway. And then he sat up, pulling socks onto his feet before venturing into the hallway. He hated sleeping in socks, but he hated walking around the house without them. Socks were his constant nemesis, as well, because when taking them off, he never seemed able to find them again. He vowed anew to throw out any of his socks that were remotely close to being colored in any shade of red. It was harder for him to see red, and he was put off at the thought that any of his red socks were lurking somewhere on his floor, and he couldn't see them. It was maddening.

Scott was vindicated in his suspicionings when he saw a blue-furred, pajama-clad boy, absorbed in the beginning of what looked like _The Princess Bride_, sitting in close proximity to the screen so as to better hear the dialogue, and intermittently bringing popcorn to his mouth by the handful.

Scott stepped into the room, announcing his presence with a light, "Hey, Kurt."

The boy started violently in surprise, whirling around to face him, eyes wide and glowing eerily in the darkness.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Scott whispered, sitting cross-legged on the floor, scooting closer as Kurt offered him popcorn, muttering as he did so.

"If you go around creeping like you do, then you are going to scare people." He spoke easily enough, but with a slight German accent. He hailed from Bavaria, and had, apparently, learned English rather quickly so as to come to the school. Aside from slipping into the odd German phrase when he wasn't paying attention, though, his English was pretty awesome. Scott thought it very impressive, and had told Kurt so, but he'd been brushed off.

"_It's nothing_," Kurt had said modestly. "You _try to_ not _learn ven your mother runs the crash course. _Überhaupt keine Wahl. _Ach…No…no choice_."

"Sorry," Scott said now, taking a handful of popcorn from the proffered bowl. "_Princess Bride_, right?"

Kurt nodded. "Sword fights and pirates. Or so I hear. So far, I don't think I care for it." His /th/ sound wasn't quite English, but it wasn't the /s/ sound that was so stereotypically German, and Scott knew Kurt had worked hard to make his sounds correctly.

Scott grinned. "It gets better. I promise." He was talking about the movie, not Kurt's accent, but was pleased that the statement applied to both, and that Kurt didn't know what Scott was thinking. It was sometimes annoying to live with two telepaths. "Jean made me watch this at _least_ four times last summer. I hadn't seen it either."

Kurt simply nodded, offering the popcorn again. "I always…ve…vatched Pirate movies. I…zey are my favorite." He said this quickly, as though he were embarrassed to admit it.

"My mom didn't think they were good for little boys. My dad was sneaky, though. We watched the old _Count of Monte Cristo_. The Black and White one. It wasn't as scary because it wasn't in color. That was his reasoning." Scott grinned at the memory, and tried not to jump when he felt something brush against his back – it was only Kurt's tail.

"_Nee_. I mean _No! _The...the black and white movies _were_ scary!" Scott noticed that in his eagerness to stress the word, the /w/ sound was correct. "Have you ever…ever seen _Das Bildnis des Dorian Gray_?" Kurt paused, shuddering for effect. "Very scary." He seemingly hadn't noticed his slip into German for the movie title, but Scott could pick it out, and nodded slowly.

Both were silent for a minute or so, watching as Princess Buttercup was abducted by Vizzini and his henchman.

Kurt had arrived a few days ago, after Scott's incidents (plural, thank you. As in more than one incident) at Bayville High School. Scott had been grounded from his car (blow up _one_ set of bleachers!) and taking public transit annoyed him. (Especially because Jean had been getting a ride with Duncan Matthews, who Scott detested.) Scott felt bad that he had been in kind of a bad mood for the time that Kurt had been here; especially since Kurt's records had transferred, and it was his first day in school today, and he was probably super nervous.

As if reading his thoughts, Kurt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye – the gesture would have been missed entirely, with Scott's limited (and very red) peripheral vision, but Kurt's eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. "I couldn't sleep," Kurt admitted softly, glancing back at the movie. "My mind thinks much."

Scott held back the grin that wanted to surface at the somewhat scrambled phrase. He made a mental note to educate Kurt in the finer arts of American English euphemisms. For the moment, though, he settled for a neutral face. "What is it…thinking about?"

"I have never…learned among school…" he said carefully, scowling. "No…I have never…"

"You've never had to go to public school," Scott supplied, and Kurt sighed in relief.

"_Ja_."

"What about it is freaking you out?"

Kurt's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Freak out?"

"I mean…what is worrying you?" Scott repaired lamely.

Kurt just shrugged. "Ze language," he said simply, "my holowatch, my tail…" he trailed off pointedly, letting his tail poke Scott pointedly in the small of his back, grinning as Scott straightened in surprise. "Gives there…something to _not_ worry about?"

"I think your English is great, Kurt."

The boys both jumped, whirling around in surprise to see Jean coming through the door. Kurt was so startled that he upset the entire bowl of popcorn, and Scott held back a laugh, coughing covertly into the crook of his elbow to hide his smile.

Jean crouched on Kurt's other side, kneeling demurely in her nightshirt, helping him recover the kernels of popcorn as he apologized sheepishly. "The other things are total non-issues. You'll see." She smiled, and was rewarded with Kurt's returning smile, fangs and all.

"Scott Summers, why didn't you wake me up? I love this movie!" Jean reached across Kurt, throwing a handful of popcorn at the side of Scott's face, and he grinned, throwing some of the kernels back, but popping the rest in his mouth.

"I think you'll do awesome at school today, Kurt," Jean was saying, smiling the same way she did when she was talking to her friends on the Yearbook staff. "You're really funny. Just be yourself."

Kurt frowned. "That's actually not what I had in mind," he muttered. "I scare people."

"I think she means to just act normally," Scott intercepted as Jean opened her mouth. "You'll charm them without even trying."

"_Ja_?" Kurt seemed to brighten.

"If anything, work the new kid angle. Or the German angle. Then everyone will _have_ to be nice to you," Scott reasoned, causing Jean to scowl at him.

"Please," Kurt said, his eyebrows knitting, "what has this to do with angels? Or is it fishing?"

Jean's scowl morphed into a smile, and of a sudden, there was a sort of…equation in his head, and he knew Jean had sent it there: _Angle = _Engel_. He's confused because there's a German homonym._

"To work an angle is an expression," Jean said aloud, for Kurt's benefit. "To…um…emphasize parts of your story. Get sympathy. So that people won't be rude to you."

Kurt nodded. "I…I understand." Then he smiled. "Wait. I learned that yesterday—I…I "get it"? _Richtig_? Uh…Right? Correct?"

"Mm-hmm," Jean confirmed. Scott rolled his eyes. She was being overly perky. Playing the "super-popular older sister figure" angle, as it were. It had to take a lot of energy.

Kurt smiled, turning back to the movie as the man in black pursued Princess Buttercup.

The three sat in companionable silence, absently reaching for popcorn, either from the bowl, or from the floor – pieces that Kurt nor Jean had as of yet actually retrieved. As the film progressed, Jean covertly flicked popcorn pieces into Kurt's ear with her telekinesis, and Kurt retaliated by depositing a few kernels sneakily in her hair. A few choice pieces pinged off of Scott's glasses, and he sighed, glancing at his watch. 3:56 AM. They had a long day ahead of them.

* * *

It was 6:42 AM, and Lance Alvers had already been having a bad morning. He'd started the day by finding a termite infestation in the cupboard, he'd found a stack of letters that had been "saved" for him behind the cereal boxes by Mrs. Jones, who didn't want him to remain in contact with his friends from his previous homes because they were "a bad crowd," and gotten into a screaming match with the apartment superintendent, who refused to do anything about the termites because that was the renter's responsibility.

He stomped down the stairs, furious, but unwilling to commit to the hassle that causing a scene would create. He'd about had it with this dump; he was just waiting until he aged out next year, and didn't want the bother of being placed somewhere worse. It had happened before. He dismissed his anger with a swift thought of the group home in Hartford, or the Wilderness Camp stint he'd done two summers ago. Termites and all, this place was better. He was content to stay until he aged out.

He wished he'd grabbed a jacket, after feeling the chill in the air – it had been windy, and he had been too lazy to put the roof up on his jeep. It would be rough going. He distracted himself, shuffling through the letters. There were seven of them, and he scowled. He put them on the empty passenger's seat and turned his car on, cranking the heater up. He would get gas, he would pick up some supplies, and maybe see about getting the roof up.

One of the letters had been about his mom, mixed in with official documents from the school and state. He waited until he pulled up to the gas station before he dared look through the contents entirely, only to find out she'd stopped trying at her required therapy and was back with the skeezy drug-addict boyfriend who hit her sometimes. Lance was still under state custody. Great.

He got some supplies to put in his glovebox—more wrapped Gut-Bombers (they tasted best when a few days old and slightly chewy), a package of mini-donuts, and a bottle of soda. With the full tank of gas, the total neared a hundred dollars, and he used Mrs. Jones' credit card (appropriated from her wallet last Wednesday) without an ounce of guilt.

Not that he was strapped for cash anyway. Mid-terms were approaching, and he had it on good authority that at least thirty students had said they'd pay top dollar for the test answers he could usually scrounge up the day before.

He just had to figure out how to get past the new security system.

* * *

Kitty Pryde was feeling slightly nauseated. She was pretty sure the mysterious food-substance she'd consumed at lunch was fighting with her stomach for release. It probably had something to do with her mounting anxiety. She had gym in a few minutes, and she wasn't exactly the star athlete of the school. Apparently, though, even if she took all AP classes, there was no way around the required gym credit.

She pushed her remaining books into her locker, running a clammy hand over her sweaty hairline, combing her long brown hair out of her face. Maybe if she could prove to the coach that she was sick, she wouldn't have to run the mile today?

She walked quickly in the direction of the locker room, hoping to get a nice sheen of sweat on her face before heading to the track; she could do sick in her sleep. She didn't have to fake too much, anyway; she really had been feeling weird, lately.

She'd been plagued with occasional dizziness and shortness of breath; or just nausea, like she had now – not to mention the weird dream she'd been having. The one where she was flying, and then she'd start to fall…and she kept falling, even when she should have hit the ground; falling to the center of the earth, struggling to breathe as she felt earth pressing in her nostrils. And then she'd wake up, shaky, disconcerted, and sporting a whopping headache.

Speaking of which…she rubbed her temples, trying to massage the throbbing away as she slowed to a trot, turning around to push the door open with her back as she arrived at the women's locker room.

She didn't seem to notice when she walked through the solid steel of the door like a ghost.

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

I get lots of requests to do this, and I have been sitting on this starter for a while. Let's try!


	2. Chapter 2

2

* * *

Scott had been on probation since the incident at homecoming, and was more than a little miffed at not being able to take his car to school, but Jean said she wanted the practice, anyway; she hadn't had her license as long as he had, and she liked the power that was offered in driving the X-van. Scott supposed he should be grateful she was driving with them anyway, and not with her new boyfriend, Duncan Matthews.

Kurt just seemed nervous about the whole thing. Jean tried to engage him in conversation, asking him how close he was to getting his license, and he kept scrambling his phrases, making them almost incomprehensible.

"_Ich hab kein—ach_—s-sorry, I mean to say I have not—I have—no? _Ja, stimmt_. I have _no_…ahm…_Geburtsurkunde_," he said absently, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack, having not noticed that he had ended his phrase in German.

"Is that…important?" Scott asked, and Kurt frowned.

"_Ja_," he said slowly. "_Ich bin nur hiergekommen_—"

"English, Kurt," Jean said softly, and the hologram that was Kurt's face appeared concerned.

"Again?" he said, and his tone was bitter anguish. _Unglaublich_. I mean…Ah, I don't know what I mean! Why is this of a sudden so _schwer_?"

"You're just nervous. But hey—don't be! Everything will turn out all right," Jean said peppily, and it seemed to deepen Kurt's frown even more.

"You don't have the—the wrong language in your tongue."

Scott tried a half smile. That one…made sense. It just wasn't…your everyday colloquialism.

"_Und! Noch was_!" Kurt exclaimed, and held his tail up to show them.

"Oh," Jean said, and Scott echoed with his own,

"Yeah."

"_Was soll ich den machen damit_?" Kurt spat, waving it like a pointy party favor. Then, when he realized he'd been speaking German again, he sputtered. "I mean…that…oh, you know what I mean!"

His wide movements brushed his watch against the X-van's window, and he was suddenly his normal self, pointed ears and all, wearing the same outfit as his hologram, albeit sans shoes.

"_Scheiße_!" Kurt exclaimed, pulling his arm to himself and frantically jamming his large first finger on one of the buttons, restoring the hologram.

Scott knew that one. He knew what that one meant. Several things danced through his head, then.

_He wears the same outfit under the hologram? That's…kind of smart, actually._

_I wonder if his feet ever hurt?_

_Kurt can swear?_

"Oh," Kurt said belatedly, and Scott was impressed that Kurt's hologram could blush. "Please…don't tell my _Mutti_," he mumbled.

There was a stunned moment, and then—he could hardly help it—Scott laughed loudly.

Kurt relaxed a little at last and joined him.

* * *

Todd Tolansky snapped his long, green tongue at a dragonfly, missing on purpose and snapping it again. Raven Darkholme snapped her tongue at him in return, though in the form of annoyed words.

"If you're so deliriously bored, go and do something with your life," she growled, flipping through the stack of papers in front of her in agitation.

"Like what?" he whined, gulping down the dragonfly with relish. "I got sacked from my job because I "smell weird," and that's the only job I wanted." He'd put finger-quotes around "smell weird," and his brusque companion let out a bark of what could pass as laughter.

"Perhaps if you made your hygiene something more of a priority."

Todd shrugged. "What's the point, yo? I could get money like _that_." He snapped, grinning. He quite enjoyed his foray into using his powers to thieve.

Well, to thieve _here_. He'd done a fair bit of the sticky-fingers thing when he was living in the city. But he was respectable, now. He lived in a Boarding House. He had a psycho lady who fudged paperwork for him. It was an entirely different game, here.

Mystique hummed; she used her powers for thieving, too, but in a different way. She had a "sponsor," she said, and didn't have to worry about petty things like having money to spend. The Boarding House she currently resided in, with Todd, would never have been a possibility on her salary as Principal of Bayville High. Not in New York.

"That Summers boy has destroyed enough of my school, thank you," she murmured, bringing Todd's thoughts back to focus. "Last year it was the gym. This year, the home bleachers. So far. It's only September."

Todd blinked slowly. "It's October."

There was a strange, inhuman growling noise, but it was suppressed by the normal, albeit annoyed voice of Raven Darkholme: Principal. "Don't you have mid-terms to study for?"

Recently, Mystique had been using monstrous transformations to scare Todd into cooperation with her schemes. More recently, Todd had taken a trip to the Xavier Institute, where Scott Summers lived, to spy on them, or something. He hadn't actually been clear on what he needed to do, once there.

Needless to say, Mystique hadn't considered the night a success, and she was back to doing her scheming the old-fashioned way: lots of research, lots of eavesdropping, and lots of being in the right place at the right time.

That was how she'd managed to get to Todd. So, he figured she didn't need to be all obsessive with a new method. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Right?

Todd glanced at the piles of paperwork Mystique was perusing.

School budget stuff, sprinkler system timers, Union paperwork, and a copy of a foster care check. He recognized the seal. Hmm. One of these things is not like the others.

His hands were naturally…grippy. Came with the whole Toad thing. Helped with the whole sticky-fingers thing, too. He slid a finger to the paper in question, and it came neatly away from its pile.

"Who the heck's Constance Jones?" he asked, eyes narrowed in concentration, reading the miniscule writing on a very badly-done copy.

Cue another inhuman growl from Principal Darkholme. "That's none of your concern!"

Todd sniffed. He could tell when he wasn't wanted. He just usually chose to ignore it. "Fine, teach. But someone's stealing her checks."

Mystique plucked the paper from Todd's hand, looking at it. "What makes you say that?"

"The signature on the back. That ain't no Constance Jones. That's a dude. A 'never learned no cursive' dude trying to fake it. And succeeding, because someone's a moron. My money's on the foster kid. I used to steal my foster mom's checks, too."

"How did you…catch that?" Mystique murmured, no growl detectable in her voice at all.

Todd grinned. "I gots eyes, teach. Toad's eyes can see through weird shit that other people can't. Didn't you know that?"

"Mind your tongue in my school, Mr. Tolansky."

Todd grunted. He hated that phrase. 'Mind your tongue.' Mostly, he hated how applicable it was to him. "Yeah, whatever," he shrugged. Mystique was looking thoughtfully at the check, and then she was suddenly picking up the phone, grabbing an outside line, and on the phone with a bank. She was back in her zone, and Todd was officially bored.

* * *

Jean decided she hated Mid-Terms. Not on their own merit, really; she understood the need to be tested on the material they'd covered in their classes thus far, to ensure the students were prepared for finals and end-of-year testing. Like, she got the logic.

But as a mutant? Who was still learning what Professor Xavier called "filtering" and what she often called "annoying"? Mid-Terms sucked.

_Oh, my God, if Ms. Vasquez talks about the stupid symbology in 'The Scarlett Letter' again, I'll just kill myself. We get it! Nathaniel Hawthorne had no life!_

_I just don't get it! Do I keep studying it? Or do I just hope it won't come up on the test? I wonder how much my grade will slide if I utterly bomb the Mid-Term?_

_I can't believe this! The stress is bloating me out! These pants weren't so tight, before! Can they all see my panty lines?_

"Jean?"

She bit back her automatic desire to growl aloud in frustration.

"Sorry. Spaced out for a sec," she said. Normal tone of voice. Friendly. Not frustrated. She smiled. "What's up?"

It was…Linda. From soccer. She smiled. "I just asked if you got any good pictures from the Homecoming game. Did you take pictures when—you know. The explosion happened?"

She hadn't. She'd taken a few pictures of the game proper, a few of Duncan to tease him, but she'd actually dropped the camera when the explosion happened. She'd figured out that Scott and Duncan were arguing—_again_—and come to break them up. Then Scott had hit that support-beam. His glasses had flown off. It had all happened so fast.

To Linda, Jean offered a light laugh. "No, I actually didn't. Guess I'm not a good journalist, huh? I was too worried that anyone had gotten hurt. Duncan got a concussion, did you hear?"

Jean sort of tuned the conversation out, once she'd steered it to a place with no substance. She didn't feel too bad doing it, though, because she'd promised Kurt she'd keep mental tabs on him. He'd all but been on the verge of a panic attack, this morning, and in the sudden deluge of minds she'd suddenly had to filter out once she stepped into the lunchroom, she'd lost track of him, for the first time that day.

She reached out for him mentally, struggling to do so without moving her hands to her temples. It didn't even help, really, to do it, but she noticed that she did it, now, because Scott had said something, and so she was hyper-vigilant about it. Like how she opened her mouth to put on mascara.

_They were out of class. He had lunch now, too. He had stayed behind, packing his backpack with exaggerated slowness because he didn't want to bump into anyone in the hall. She saw Scott appear in the doorway. _

_"Hey, slowpoke. Get a move on! It's stroganoff day! The burger line will be surreal!"_

Jean eased back, feeling better knowing that Scott and Kurt were together.

"Hey, Linda! Jean! Come here!"

Jean turned to the voice, smiling. Taryn. Also from soccer. She was sitting at a table with a few other girls from the team and Duncan, and a few of his friends from the football team.

She gave herself an inward sigh of relief. Amidst the maelstrom of Mid-Term stressing, it was actually so easy to sit with this group of people. Because she could tune out. They didn't often talk about anything deeper than the upcoming games, complaining about school, or other gossip.

Maybe it was rude, but it was necessary, lately.

"I just don't know what to do about Hawkins' class," Taryn was saying, and Jean nearly groaned aloud.

Mid-Terms sucked.

"Hey, you're friends with Scott, right?" Linda asked Jean, and Jean nodded.

"Yeah, we live at the Institute together."

"I heard he's like, scary good at Geometry. My friend Celia said she wouldn't have passed last year if Scott hadn't run his whole…what was it? Like, a tutoring…camp?"

"Woah, really? I could totally get in on that action," Taryn chimed in, "I had to retake it, and my mom flipped out."

Duncan rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. Jean frowned. Why didn't Duncan and Scott get along? After all this time?

"Hey, Jean."

Jean turned, smiling to see Paul Haits. He'd been a regular guest over the summer, and was a good friend of Scott's.

"You seen Scott around?" he asked, returning the smile, but not sitting down.

"Probably in the Burger line, if he fears the Stroganoff as much as he did last year," she joked.

"I'll track him down, then," Paul nodded, and made to leave.

"Wait! I'll come with you," Jean gladly took the excuse to extract herself from more Mid-Term talk. "Um, Taryn?" she directed her question as she stood. "Did you want me to tell Scott to contact you about tutoring? He'll have prices and stuff."

"Oh!" Taryn smiled, and Jean didn't roll her eyes.

She didn't.

"Um, sure! That would be awesome! Thanks, Jean!"

"See you around, Jean," Duncan called, and she waved.

Once they were a bit away, Jean sighed.

"Your friends exhausting you?" Paul said in amusement.

_You have no idea._

"Just…Mid Terms," she said dismissively. "Oh, have you met Kurt?" she asked as an afterthought. "He just moved here from Germany. He's staying at the Institute with us."

"Oh, I haven't. From Germany? Wow. I dunno how your Professor finds you guys. I mean, Scott's from, like, Alaska, right?"

"Right," Jean smiled.

"And it's a…scholarship program? Or…"

Jean's smile became slightly more forced. What _was_ it exactly that the Professor told people? "Um, I'm not sure what he calls it. It's a program for Gifted Students."

"I bet that looks nice on the college applications, too," Paul muttered.

"You're looking at colleges already?" Jean frowned. She did not need more stress. College? It was October! Their Junior year had _just_ started.

"It's way too soon, right? Could you come to my house and tell that to my dad?" Paul chuckled, and then raised his hand—he'd found Scott and Kurt. "Braving this line? You'll waste away!"

Kurt's expression looked confused, and Jean frowned in sympathy. She had no idea there were so many idioms for him to sort out.

"Nah, it's worth it, right Kurt? Hamburgers are the best," Scott intercepted smoothly, and Kurt just nodded.

Paul introduced himself, and before he could extend his hand to shake, Kurt put out a fist; the universal sign for 'pound it.'

Jean smiled. That was clever. A handshake would reveal the fur on Kurt's hand.

Scott caught her eye, and they shared a smile.

_You sick of Mid Terms, yet?_

Jean arched an eyebrow at Scott's deliberately projected thought. Kurt and Paul were making conversation about Hamburgers, and how they related to _frikadellen_, which was a close German equivalent, thought the name 'Hamburger' was also German.

_Mid Terms can go die._

Scott started laughing aloud, and then had to come up with a feeble explanation that he'd thought of something funny.

Jean wasn't amused.

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

Trying to finish my WIP stories. This one came next, because it was easier to pump out than another chapter for my Diadem story. :)

I'm trying to fix a proper timeline into place, based on what info I have from the series. Episodes should be informed by the series, but largely taking place outside of the episode-by-episode canon. (This wasn't necessarily a problem in the first story, because it took place a year before the series even started, and I only had the X-Men: Evolution Comic-Book canon to go by.)

So, like, I'll have Kitty and Lance and Evan and Rogue; but like, moments we don't already see in canon. That's how I kind of wanted to do this. So this should last the duration of a season? I'm thinking? Or else the school year, if I can slow it up that much. We'll see.

So...I'll have a plan, more or less. A structure. I'm just bad at timing. (Remember when I said I was gonna update every two weeks? and how that...didn't work out? Yeah...)

Let me know in reviews or PM if you have questions!

~Angeladex

**Addendum** Um...German? Anyone? Since writing the first story, I have learned German, which greatly helps in Kurt-writings. It's straightforward, methinks? Like...'unglaublich' is 'unbelievable' or 'geburtsurkunde' is birth certificate? And I figure y'all have Google. (And I also figure y'all know the scheiße word. I mean. Scott knows it, too.) And I remember learning German, and thinking 'damit' was the funnest word, because it's literally just a preposition. Kurt's all, "What am I supposed to do with that?" and he's talking about his tail. But...in English, we just think 'damnit,' so it adds a layer of humor because, of course, they don't know what he's saying.

IDK. If y'all wants German translatings, shoot me a message. Unless y'all say something, I'm cool with you thinking Kurt is foreign and mysterious.


End file.
